


Our Happy Family

by fancyfrey



Series: World War Voldmort [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: I don't know how to use these bloody tags, Minor England/France (Hetalia), My First Fanfic, slight domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfrey/pseuds/fancyfrey
Summary: Harry Potter loves his Uncle Arthur and his friends at Hogwarts. But when the Dark Lord threatens to return and destroy the world as Harry knows it, England must do everything in his power to keep the one thing worse than Voldemort at bay. OCs. (Year 1/7)





	1. 0.1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Hetalia.
> 
> Welcome to my first fanfiction, hope you enjoy.

"Thank you again for coming to help me out France" England said, as France returned to the room and set England's tea on the table. Taking his mug of coffee he sits beside England, making himself at home.

"It is no problem mon chérie, Big Brother France is always here to help you." The Frenchman wraps his arm around the Brit, as if to emphasize his point.

"Oh don't say it like that you wanker. You make it sound so dirty" England says, slapping France's offending hand away before his 'big brother' can grope at his vital regions and reaches for his tea.

"Well, I'm actually surprised you called me for this." France curls up on the couch and takes a sip from his mug. He doesn't try to make another move on the island nation. "What was it you wanted to talk about?" England turns away from his friend, taking small sips from his cup.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the constant 'tick-tock' ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in the corner, as it dragged on, counting the remaining seconds until the sun would rise.  
England lets out a sigh and sets his half empty tea cup onto its saucer and places it on the table. He motions for France to set his drink down as well. He obliges, his half full coffee mug follows the tea.  
Their eyes meet for a split second before he shifts his focus to unbuttoning his shirt sleeve.

"You're the only one I can trust with this," he says as he slowly pulls the sleeve back, revealing a tattoo. He offers his arm to France to get a closer look.

"Oh, you've covered it up..." France says as he examines the new tattoo; it's still a bit red, but the skin was no longer peeling. He traces the slightly raised skin along the inner part of the red Fender's body, and up the neck. Where a black skull and snake used to be was now a stylish six-string.

"I got it a few weeks ago. It took a few sessions. Because of the brand the ink wouldn't take right away-"

"Oh come on now England, why is this so special? I know you have quite a few tattoos, and I've seen them all in much more intimate circumstances."

"This is serious France," pulling his arm away and cradling it into his body, his chin touching his chest and his messy hair falling over his face, "last night, I thought I felt it burning again-"

Suddenly, France is up, placing his hands upon England's shoulders forcing England to look at him. France's ocean blue eyes bore into England's forest green.

"If it really is burning you again you have to let Scotland and Norway know!"

"I already checked with Scotland, and his is fine. And I dropped by the Ministry earlier, the Aurors haven't found anything that raises much concern." England's eyes begin welling up with tears. The stiff upper lip he always maintains falling apart as his voice quickens and cracks. "I just need you to tell me that I'm just being paranoid. Please Francis, I need to be told that You-Know-Who is dead and my son is safe, because I don't want to go through that again!"  
France takes his place back on the couch, allowing England to bury his face in his chest and wrap his arms tightly around his body. He pulls England's sleeve back down, covering the offending ink and runs his fingers through England's messy locks, rubbing his back, trying to calm down his dearest childhood friend and lifelong enemy.

"Hush now, Arthur, mon petit lapin." France coos in a soothing motherly voice he's only ever used for England and Canada. "You did get the tattoo just recently, it's still healing. And there's a reason Harry is called 'The Boy who Lived'."

"But You-Know-Who, not even Norway could defeat him, what if he survived..."

"The War is over, Arthur, but it's only been a year; we both know all too well how long it takes for these kinds of wounds to heal."

"Don't we know it," England laughs to himself, absent mindedly tracing the long scars along France's back that was left by the trenches of the bloodiest wars in history. And his own heart still beat in his chest, despite the scars and burns, his ugly souvenirs from 1666 and the Blitz.

"You are being paranoid." Telling England what he wants to hear, "but you don't have to be afraid. I won't let that happen to you again." France lifts England's face, brushing his hair behind his ears and wiping away the tears that England allows only France to see. "And I told you, Big Brother is always here to help. You've got me, and your brothers and even Norway and Romania to help you. And you've got Harry. Beautiful, beautiful little Harry."

With each word France inches closer, until their noses are brushing each other's. France doesn't remember England's lips being so rough and rugged.  
Before France realizes he's only kissing a gaudy throw pillow, England's fist connects with France's face.

"I only called you here to tell you about the Mark! And I'm certainly not in the mood for a shag with you tonight, you bloody frog!"

"Why must you always be so blunt, mon chérie?" France laughs, rubbing his tender tomato of a cheek. "Maybe not tonight but…"  
Before England could wrap his hands around France's neck, their little dispute is cut short by wails echoing from the second floor.

"Bugger" England scoffs, throwing the pillow at France and starts to make a move for the stairs. He's held back by a firm hand on his wrist.

"I'll handle it." France smiles at him as he sprints up the stairs.

England sits back down on the couch, finishing his remaining tea before it gets too cold. He pulls his sleeve back up, tracing the pattern hidden under the ink. Maybe it is just nerves. Just paranoia, he thinks to himself.

Just the paranoia.

And the fear.

And the guilt.

It's just the horrible memories of the gruesome actions he'd performed during those terrible years.

The first rays of the dawn began to peek through the curtains and spill into the room as France returns, a dark haired toddler wrapped in a blanket on his shoulder. "Well, I've stopped him from crying." France says as he offers the child to England. With his hands free, France retrieves his mug.

"Good morning Harry, did the frog wake you?" England coos, brushing Harry's hair off his face and traces his lightning bolt scar with his thumb. Harry replies with a tried yawn, his curious green eyes and tiny little hand land on England's arm; the red ink getting much attention today. England pulls his sleeve down and places a kiss on Harry's forehead. We both have our scars, he wonders to himself, but look who made it out alive, "C'mon I'll fix us some breakfast."

A horrified gasp escapes France's mouth, nearly choking on the remaining coffee, "You've been cooking for Harry this whole time? You don't have a house keeper or personal chef?! What about the Takehikos, or Elizabeth?"

"You know I cant have Spartans anymore, and shes off doing who knows what. So of course _I've_ been cooking, you bellend! Why would you ask such a stupid question?" England spat back.

"What an embarrassment it would be, for the Chosen One to die of food poisoning!"

"My cooking isn't that bad!"

"Oui, ça l'est. I'm making breakfast." France says with finality, turning on his heel and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving England with his newest adopted son.

"Your Uncle Francis is going to make us breakfast" he laughs, "can you say 'Uncle Francis'?" Harry struggles with the syllables, but manages to utter "damn frog".  
A smile breaks across England's face, his worries concerning You-Know-Who, forgotten.


	2. 0.2

"Bloody hell North, pick up your blasted phone." England spat as he set his suitcase by the door and paced around the house; double checking that the stovetop was off, the lights were down and all the windows were locked. There was a World Meeting England had to attend, and a babysitter to find.

The regular babysitter, Mrs. Figg, was in the animal hospital. One of her cats was sick, and she wanted to stay by her 'little darling's' side the whole while. So she wouldn't be able to watch Harry this weekend. Harry almost gave a sigh of relief when he heard this. She was nice and all, and pretty much left Harry to his own devices, absorbed in his books or the TV, but her house was filled with that stubborn cat-piss smell that neither England nor Harry found very appealing.

England managed to sit down and pull on his shoes, while Harry came down the stairs and stuffed some pencils into his travel bag. An automated voice informed England his call had been rejected once again. He swore under his breath as he hit redial.

"How long are you away for this time daddy?" Harry asked as he sat beside his father and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Only the weekend, love. I'm going across the channel, not the pond." England smiled as he ruffled Harry's messy black locks.

"So where is it this time?"

"Berlin."

"That's the capital of Germany. Oh I'll finally have all of Europe!" Harry's face brightened in anticipation of being able to pin down another country.

A few years ago, his Uncle Alistair gave Harry a large world map so he could track all the places his father had traveled to, marking the country or city with a golden pin. The pins quickly accumulated and scattered all across the map, which had begun to earn some weight in gold. Arthur had promised that one day, Harry would be able to visit all the places he had. In the meantime, Arthur brought back postcards with basic vocabulary of that country's official language so Harry would know at least one or two key phrases when they visited.

"That's wonderful Harry," England exclaimed sharing in his son's joy. "Do you know how to say Germany in German?"

Harry scrunched up his face trying to remember the pronunciation, "umm, Dutchland."

"Close, Deutschland."

"Dootsland." Harry laughed.

"Deutschland." England couldn't stop himself from grinning.

"Deutschland!"

"Now you've got it! And I'll be sure to get you a new postcard."  
The automated voice tells England he has failed to reach Northern Ireland once again.

"Is Uncle Connor not picking up?"

"Unfortunately not..."

"Maybe his phone is dead?" Harry said with a shrug.

"Right, that's it," he says sarcastically. Harry was a lot more optimistic about his brothers than England was sometimes. "Are you all packed?" He asks as he dials Wales' number.

"Yup!" replied Harry as he unzips his travel bag to double check his things.

"You've got your books?"

"I packed sketchbooks and stories."

"Juice box and snacks?"

"Yes. A bag of crisps and an apple."

"Your clothes for tomorrow and your jammies?"

"Yes." he says as he confirms he'd packed his favourite shirt."

"Toothbrush?"

Harry rummaged through the pack again, but came back empty. "Oops."

"Come on Harry, go get it."

Harry waddles back up the stairs; taking one step at a time, careful not to put too much pressure on his bad foot, using the crutch and brace like he was taught. He had sprained his ankle in another one of his magical accidents. England was usually able to brush these behavioral oddities off as the typical accidents many children Harry's age tend to have, whether they be wizards or not. But this particular incident was a bit more of a challenge to explain, as Harry seemingly flew up to the school roof while trying to escape the school bully, Dudley and injuring his ankle in the whole process. In the end, they both agreed to say it was 'magical' how he had gotten up there and England hoped they could laugh it off sooner or later.

The phone rings out and a familiar voice greets England, "Hello this is Wales."

"Oh thank God! Wales, I need you to babysit Harry-"

"Actually this isn't Wales," England was cut off as the message continued. "This is his voice mail. The real Wales is probably out tending to his sheep or planning a prank to pull on England. If anyone asks, it was America. Leave a message."  
The phone beeps to indicate he could now leave a message. Well, that explained many of the strange phone calls and packages he had received and the incidences he had experienced over the past few years. England doesn't even bother leaving a rant on the machine. Laughing to himself and taking a deep breath, he thinks 'There's only one person I can ask now.'

He sighs as he punches in the number of his eldest brother Scotland.

He waits for a few rings until a loud and accented voice greets him.

"Why hello hello hello! This is Scotland, the best bloody country in the United Kingdom!"

"Scotland, how fast can you get here? I need you to babysit Harry. Wait a minute...are you drunk right now?"

"Aye yah too right, am having a pure great time here dancin'."

"How in the hell of it do you go on the piss at 6 in the morning?"

"Aye, it might be that blooming early where yah are, but yah ken time zones are tricky, tricky things."

England tried his best to prevent that vein in his head from bursting, "I'm calling you on your house phone Scotland. You're at home right now! There is no time difference between London and Edinburgh!"

There was a short moment of silence while Scotland's drunken brain processed what England was shouting at him. "Wait, who is this again?"

England leaned his head against a wall and ran a hand through his hair. It was much too early to stress out this much. "This is England. Your brother. I need someone to watch Harry." He said slowly, articulating each syllable in hopes Scotland could comprehend what he's been asked in his current state.

"Oh, yeah. My wee Sassenach bràthair." Scotland exclaims, giving a slight pause while England nodded his head 'yes, I finally got through to him'. "I want my independence." Claims Scotland in a voice that sounded scarily determined.

"FOR THE LAST TIME! NO!" England hung up the phone and let it clatter to the floor, burying his head in his hands with a load groan.

Harry returns with his toothbrush laughing. "Did Uncle Alistair get locked out of his house again?"

"Worse. It seems he got locked in his wine cellar."

"So who am I staying with?" Harry said, worry tainting his voice.

England sighed. It would be unlike a gentleman to force Mrs. Figg to take care of Harry when she should be with her cats. His brothers were being incredibly unreliable. And letting Harry stay with their landlords again, whether they were Harry's last living relatives or not, was absolutely out of the question. Petunia had told Arthur multiple times that her family was very generous indeed to give the pair of freaks a roof over their heads; and a very thin line for him to toe to follow every rule and regulation to keep it. The magic hating Dursleys nearly beat Harry for merely uttering the word "wizard" while he tried talking about his favourite book about dwarves and hobbits.  
He had no other choice. He picked up the phone and dialed Germany' number.

"Hello Ludwig, yes, I'll need another plane ticket." England looks at Harry and winks. "I'll have to bring my son along. Yes. Thank you. We'll be there soon." He hangs up and smiles at Harry. "Are you excited for your first flight?"

"Yes!" Harry squealed.

"Well, I'll just get your passport, we'll go to the airport and you'll get to visit Germany!" England says as he kicks his shoes off and sprints up the stairs to get Harry's passport.

Elated, Harry hops to the living room, over to the framed photo of his birth parents that Arthur had set on the mantle. "Mommy, Daddy, did you hear that? I'm going to fly in an aeroplane!" Their smiles never faltered as Harry's grew ever larger. "Yes, I'm excited too. I'll miss you." he says as he kisses the tips of his fingers and taps the glass over his mother's face. He had to remember to change the water for the rose once they returned.

Taking a second glance at the photo, he thought he saw his mother's figure blow a kiss at him as he turned to leave. But the movement went as quickly as it came. Perhaps another one of those 'magical accidents' he thought.

England returns, bounding down the steps and stuffing Harry's passport in his suitcase, "C'mon Harry," following Harry's eyes, he waves to the picture as well. "Don't worry you two, I'll take good care of him."

They both wear big smiles on their faces as they do up their laces, pick up their bags and head out the door. Before England locks it, Harry calls out to his parents one more time, "Take care of the house while we're gone!"

* * *

 

"Oh my God, did Ludwig actually manage to get through his whole speech for once?" Patrick whispered to Arthur and Francis.

"Mon Dieu, you're right! What's wrong with everyone, why are we all so quiet?"

"Daddy, is it always this boring?"

Arthur struggled to stifle a quiet laugh at their whispered conversation. "By golly, stop talking about it, you might jinx it."

The meeting was significantly quieter than usual and off to a very good start. They were more than an hour in and not one Nation had broken out into arguments and rants with another, which meant no punches, chairs or people have been thrown. Germany was able to get through his whole agenda for once and a few other Nations had been able to give their own presentations.

But just because this particular meeting was quieter than most, doesn't necessarily mean it was any more productive. In fact, many of the Nations weren't paying much attention to Germany and opted to oggle in silence at the strange newcomer seated between the United Kingdom and Ireland.

When the boy first appeared, many of the Nations assumed he was a new colony; a desperate grab at straws by the crumbling empire to remain in power. But then Germany gave them all instructions to only refer to each other by their human names or titles while the boy was present. So it was a bit mind boggling to think the United Kingdom would bring a human, a child no less, to the meeting. What was even more mind boggling was the fact that the United Kingdom, France and Ireland were all getting along, which was an odd sight indeed.

"Daddy," some Nations seated nearby could hear the small boy whisper, "why do those men have such big curls in their hair?"

"Hush Harry," the United Kingdom would reply, holding a finger to his lips, which the boy would adorably mimic, "we have to be quiet. And their hair is just like that."

The meeting continued on in relative silence, and the curious tiny human had to be occasionally hushed by England. While the three nations took notes, the little boy scribbled in a sketch book and quietly sipped on a juice box.

"Oops daddy," Harry gasps as he spills his juice box, the sticky wave of grape-flavoured snack beverage staining both England and Ireland's papers purple. France scrambles to save his own papers from the sweet flood and salvage what he can of England's work.

"I'm so sorry!" Harry cries. "I'm sorry" he repeats the phrase in a whisper when he realizes he's been too loud, his face quickly growing hot and red.

Ireland leans in to Harry's ear and assures him, "No worries dote," as he traces the air around the spill in an 'S' shape with his finger and whispers "Scourgify".

Harry is amazed as the liquid disappears from the table, dissolving into the air like stars at sunrise. France does the same to England's papers, restoring them to their original pearly composition. "How did you do that?"

His two uncles look to England with questioning looks drawn on their faces. After a slight hesitation, England nods.

"Magic." France and Ireland smile at him.

* * *

 

By the time lunch break rolled around, the novelty of a tiny human at the meeting had worn off. Most of the other Nations left the British Isles and the boy to their own devices while they ate together in the hotel cafeteria.

"Uncle Patrick, Uncle Francis," Harry asked between mouthfuls of bratwurst, "how did you really clean up the papers?"

"I already told you Harry, it was magic."

Harry set down his fork and knife and stared into his lunch as if it would give him a better answer.

"But the Dursleys always say that magic is bad and people who use it are daft. And if Dudley says so, then all the other kids at school have to say so too." Harry says quietly, his usually bright green eyes were dull and down cast like the rainy weather outside.

"Oh Harry," Uncle Francis reached across the table and took Harry's tiny hands into his own calloused ones to offer comfort. France had seen that look before, on a young Canada while he was adjusting to a new life under England's rule. And they all knew how hard it was to seem different from everyone else.

"Nonsense Harry," said Arthur, bringing his son into a one armed hug and ruffled his hair in attempt to cheer him up. "Do you really think your uncles are what the Dursleys would call daft?"

"Well the Dursleys would use much more colourful language -"

"And you would trust the word of a couple of Muggles over your own family?" A voice sounded from behind Harry.

Harry turned around to see two men dressed in sharp suits like everyone else from the meeting. But unlike the similar suits everyone wore, they had opposite expressions on their faces. One had a rather stoic, almost mysterious look on his face and a peculiar hair curl floating by his head. The other seemed absolutely giddy, showing off a fanged smile that crinkled his red eyes.

Behind them stood two people wearing navy blue windbreakers that had a Spartan helmet patch on the left breast and a blue chevron on the shoulders. Harry almost didn't notice them, they stood straight and stiff with their arms tucked neatly behind their backs.

"Umm, hello?" Harry said nervously, not sure who had talked to him first. His focus shifted to the two men wearing suits like his dad and uncles. The two people behind them had such as serious stance he didn't want to talk with them anyway.

"Oh, Harry, these are my colleagues," Arthur said, gesturing to the man with the hair curl "Mr. Lukas Bondevik," then to the other, "and Mr. Vladimir Lupei. Lukas, Vlad, this is my son-"

"HARRY POTTER!" Vlad exclaimed, taking Harry's hands and shaking them excitedly. "You've grown so much since I last saw you! And I really must thank you for what you did. You really saved our skins."

"Umm, what?" Harry was confused. The man was referring to him by his birth name and acting like those strangely dressed people he would occasionally meet on the streets of London.

"Vlad." Arthur warned.

"Enough Vlad," said Lukas in an almost bored sounding voice. He must've been the one who originally addressed me, Harry thought, as Lukas pulled Vlad off of Harry. "You might scare the boy."

"My apologies," Vlad grinned, as his eyes landed on Harry's foot. "What happened here?" He asked, gesturing to the brace.

"Harry had an accident. The doctor said he has to keep it on for a week or so." Arthur explained.

"Or I can fix it right now," Vlad said, with a cheerful glint in his eye. "Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to Harry's brace. Harry gave a questioning look to his father.

"It's all right Harry," Arthur said, rubbing Harry's back, "you can trust him."

All focus was on Harry's leg and Vlad's hands as he waved his hand around Harry's ankle and whispered words under his breath. Harry felt a soothing warmth within his injured leg as he saw the air around Vlad's fingers twinkle and shine. By the time he was done, the numbing pain in his leg was gone, and he could wiggle his toes with ease.

"Let's try and take that brace off Harry," Arthur suggested as he began to undo the bindings. "Can you stand?"

Harry was a little reluctant to put much weight on his bad leg, and held onto his father for support. Tightly gripping his father's arm, he found there wasn't any pain in his leg at all.

"It's all fixed!" Harry gasped, jumping in place, testing his newly repaired ankle. He felt a bit silly dancing around with only one shoe. "How did you do that Mr. Lupei?"

"Well isn't it obvious?" He replied with a grin, "I'm a wizard, that's how."

Harry could hardly believe what Vlad was saying. Wizards were only in fairy tales. And the one in real life, the ones the Dursleys would warn Dudley about, those ones are bad and should be avoided. But Vlad just fixed his leg. How could this man be a wizard?

"You're a wizard?" Harry asked, a bewildered look on his face.

"Da!" Vlad exclaimed, his fanged grin growing wider as he pulled Arthur and Lukas to either side of him, each men wearing annoyed expressions, "Us three, we're the most powerful wizards in the world!"

Uncle Patrick had burst into laughter at this proclamation, quickly turning red and holding onto Uncle Francis' shoulder for support, who was quietly giggling at the whole situation.

"What?! You're a wizard, daddy?" Harry asked, a thousand questions whizzed around in his head.

"Uh -not, not in a long time, love..." Arthur stuttered, breaking free of Vlad's grip and growing tomato faced like Patrick. This was not how he wanted to have this conversation.

"6 years is hardly a long time Arthur," Vlad began again, "even by _human standards_ -"

"Speaking of time," Lukas said darkly, grabbing Vlad by the arm, signalling that he should stop talking much more, "I think lunch break is nearly over. We should start heading back now. Shall we, Mr. Lupei?"

"Cu siguranță." Vlad nodded as he and Lukas headed to the cafeteria exit. The two people in windbreakers followed their lead with brisk steps. On their retreating backs, Harry saw the word 'SECURITY' emblazoned in bold white letters.

"We should start going too Harry, we need to get your other shoe. We'll meet you later." Arthur waved to Patrick and Francis as he gathered their cleared plates. Uncle Patrick nodded as he shovelled the last of his lunch into his mouth and Uncle Francis wiped his face clean with a pearly laced napkin.

With Harry's fingers entwined with his father's they left the cafeteria and headed to the elevators in the lobby. It seemed nearly everyone at the meeting had a stern looking person in a windbreaker or jacket waiting for them outside. Harry saw his uncles Francis and Patrick meet with their own pair of winder breaker clad people once they got outside the cafeteria and headed back towards the conference room. A man with a jacket and a cane even stopped Arthur for a few minutes. 

"Would you like me to accompany you to your room, sir?" Harry heard the man say in a strong American accent. 

"Thank you Captain, but I can manage." Arthur replied. As they walked away, Harry noticed the man wore the same Spartan helmet badge he saw on the other 'security' people. But his chevron was red and had a gold star.  

"Come on Harry, this way," Arthur called as he lightly tugged Harry out of his thoughts and through the lobby. 

They passed Mr. Bondevik in the lobby with a group of four more suit clad blonds and even more winder breaker wearers. As they got into the elevator, Harry took another glance at the mysterious man, a strange misty creature floating behind him. The doors closed before he could know for sure what it was, but he swore it was a troll.

* * *

 

"It's only for one night love, tomorrow you'll be back in your own bed." Arthur said as he took Harry's glasses and set them on the bedside table. "But until then, I'll be right here," he said as he placed a kiss on Harry's forehead, tucked him into bed and quietly slipped into his own.

"I love you, Harry." Arthur whispered as he reached to turn off the lamp between them.

"No don't!" Harry cried, bringing the scratchy blanket up past his nose, "leave it on please..."

Thunder roared beyond the window. The rain from that afternoon hadn't let up, and a few lighting bolts would flash across the sky.

"Of course Harry." Arthur complied and retracted his hand, leaving the lamp to continue emitting it's warm protective glow around Harry. "Good night." Arthur said, closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

Sleep, Harry found, didn't come as easily to him. Being in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar country made Harry quite uncomfortable. And with the thunderstorm raging outside, Harry was having none of it. He was left tossing and turning, a peaceful rest persistently evading him.

With every crack of lightning that spilled into the room through the curtains, Harry saw a green flash.

As another bolt of lightning invaded the room and thunder boomed overhead, the lamp gave out, plunging the room into darkness.

"DADDY!" Harry screamed as he jumped out of his bed and into his father's blankets. Suddenly awake, Arthur wrapped his arms protectively around his precious angel.

"It's alright Harry. I'm here." He repeated  the phrase on end as he pulled Harry closer into his embrace, and tried to calm him down.

As more lighting bolts split the sky, more green flashes were sent across Harry's eyes.

"Daddy!" Harry sobbed, "I keep seeing the car crash! Make it stop please!"

Thunder crashed through the room and deep into Arthur's heart. He had always felt guilty he had to keep the truth of his parents' death from him. But what else could he say? That an evil wizard had murdered them just to get to Harry?

Hot tears began to soak through Arthur's shirt, staining his chest.

"I'm right here Harry, you're safe. I'm here to protect you, love. I won't let anything hurt you."

As thunder erupted again, the woman and Harry screamed.

"Harry!" Arthur yelled over the thunder. The room soon quieted until eventually, the only sound left was Arthur whispering words into the air in a language Harry didn't recognise. It certainly wasn't anything he learned from his postcards.

Harry felt the soothing warmth again. This time, it blossomed in his heart until it reached the top of his head and the tips of his toes. He saw a slight glow enveloping the both of them; the harsh, cold light of the lighting slightly dulled and the thunder was rendered silent.

"Daddy?"

"Keep your eyes closed Harry," Arthur said as Harry buried his head deeper into his father's chest, "I can't do much against the lighting, but at least I've got the thunder to quiet down, right?"

Harry saw the flash of another bolt of lightning through his eyelids, but the thunder never came. It was so quiet in the room he could hear his own heart racing in his chest. "Yes Daddy. The thunder is gone." Harry said quietly, afraid if he spoke too loud, the thunder would return. The glow soon faded but the calm stillness in the room remained. Until the door handle started rattling. Harry yelped and hid under the covers again. 

Arthur grabbed a walkie talkie from his bedside table and spoke into it, "Stand down Captain Waverly, we're fine."

A static filled voice replied, "Mr. Kirkland, sir, I heard screaming, are you alright?"

"Harry just had a bad dream, the thunder and lightning didn't help. I have it sorted, no action required." Arthur spoke with authority as he gently ran his fingers through Harry's hair to calm him down. 

"Understood, sir. Stay safe." The captain complied before the walkie talkie shut off. 

"Alright then, sorry about that, but you can calm down now Harry." Arthur said in a soothing voice, slowly caressing Harry's head. "Let me try and get this lamp back on." He said as he reached for the lamp. He turned the dial over and hearing it click a few times, but it refused to relight. The storm must have caused a blackout in the hotel, he thought.

Arthur sighed before pointing at it and whispering "lumos". The light came back on, now a cool blue instead of its original warm orange. "Is that alright Harry?" Harry nodded and held his father tighter.

"Can I stay in here with you, Daddy?" He mumbled into Arthur's chest.

"Of course, love." He said as he planted a kiss into Harry's hair. "Let's try to go to sleep now, okay?"

If sleep was difficult for Harry to achieve before, it was impossible now. With all the strange events that happened that day and questions bouncing around in his head, Harry just couldn't relax. With his and his father's heart beats the only things keeping time, each second pounded against his confused brain. Harry needed answers.

"Daddy," Harry tugged at his father's eyebrows to force him awake, "Is this all magic?"

"Yes of course, love." Arthur sighed reluctantly.

"Why did you never tell me you were a wizard?"

"Well, I can't exactly go about, using magic and saying I'm a wizard, not with neighbours like the Dursleys next door." He explained, leaving the last words trail off into the quiet room.

"Does that mean I'm a wizard too? All my 'accidents' are magic? Were my birth parents wizards too?"

"Yes, you're a wizard Harry, where are you going with this?" At this, Harry stifled a cry in his father's chest.

"Why are you crying, love?" Arthur gasped, somewhat surprised of his son's response.

"All- all the other kids at school, they- they say magic is bad- because- because," Harry struggled to say, "because Dudley and the Dursleys say so." Harry began to sob again. "Mrs. Dursley said my mother was a freak. That wizards are freaks. No one loves freaks."

"Harry, please." Arthur cooed, trying to mimic Francis while he brushed Harry's hair. "I love you very much. You have a whole family that loves you. And Mrs. Dursley never even knew your mother, but I know your birth parents loved you and they'll always be in your heart." Harry seemed to calm down at this. "You know I love you Harry. And even though we have to keep it a secret, magic is not bad at all. It's nothing to be afraid or ashamed of, alright?" Arthur said as he wiped away Harry's tears.

"Lukas was right, you should listen to me instead of them. If the Dursleys can't understand that something different from them can be loved, then I think they are the ones who are freaks, right?"

Harry nodded, he was starting to understand. "Mr. Bondevik, he called the Dursleys 'muggles'. What's a muggle daddy?"

"A muggle is a person without magic. Just an ordinary person." Arthur explained. He felt he had to make an important point about the difference between muggles and wizards. He didn't want to make that mistake again. "But having magic," he continued, "doesn't make you any more or any less than a muggle, alright?" He gave Harry a small smile that Harry slowly returned. "Just like all the people who live in the different countries on your map; we all live on this earth and have families that we love. We may all look and act different, but deep down, we're all human. Remember that Harry."

Arthur hoped his little speech hadn't turned Harry off or bored him, but Harry gave a small nod to show he understood.

"So, Uncles Francis and Patrick, and Mr. Lupei and Bondevik, they are wizards too?" Harry asked.

"Yes, they are. And so are your uncles Alistair and Dylan and Connor." Arthur replied.

"So is everyone in our family a wizard?"

Arthur thought of his former colonies, he had brought all the youngest ones to Hogwarts, but some of them grew up too fast. Things like declarations of independence tended to get in the way. "Most of them. Uncle Alfred can only use magic on Halloween, though Uncle Oz is learning again as well. I think only Uncles Matthieu and Liam graduated from Hogwarts though..."

"Daddy, what's Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts is a school where you can learn magic."

A smile spread across Harry's face, his green eyes sparked with excitement. "Can I go to Hogwarts? I don't want to be in a class with Dudley." he laughed.

Arthur laughed as well, glad that his son was no longer troubled by this whole revelation.

"Of course you can go to Hogwarts. When you're old enough, okay?"

"Okay." Harry agreed.

"Let's try and get to sleep now." Arthur said as he closed his eyes again.

"Daddy," Harry whispered, "if you're a wizard, is there such things as elves?"

"I haven't seen any in a while but I'm sure you could find one if you look hard enough. Let's go to sleep."

"Okay. But what about unicorns?

"Yes, unicorns exist. Now sleep Harry..."

Brushing hair out of Harry's face, kissing his forehead and closing his own eyes to prompt Harry to sleep.

"Are dragons real too?"

Harry asked questions into the night until he ran out of magical creatures and eventually fell asleep, wrapped tightly in his loving father's arms.

* * *

* * *

 

Da yes

cu siguranță certainly

It might not be %100 accurate because I used Google translate.

Lukas Bondevik = Norway

Vladimir Lupei =Romania

Some fan names I see for these countries.

Oz= Australia

Liam= New Zealand

Yeah, laziest fan names for these two. They would be Mason and Jack or something, but those seemed so ordinary to me, no offence to any Masons or Jacks! *me and one of my betas actually fought over this* I dunno, I guess I could change it, let me know in reviews I suppose. Though it doesn't matter much right now, they won't come in 'till much later.

*edit* me and betas finally compromised, we're keeping Australia's name as Oz because it's too awesome, but New Zealand is now Liam, because Zea seems too obvious

America can only see fairies on Halloween, it's mentioned in a strip.

Canada was raised by both France and England, and France can see England's fairy friends as well(also in a strip), so I guess Canada would be good at magic too.

The Lord of the Rings was filmed in New Zealand, that has to count for something XD

Sorry if this was cheesy. This chapter was so hard to write. orz Anyways thank you all for favourites and follows!


	3. 0.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: swearing, violence.

"Oh for the love of God and all that is holy Harry!" Uncle Alistair yelled from under a mountain of pillows, "please make it stop ringing!"

"I'm sorry Uncle," Harry cried, wearing a pair of fluffy earmuffs and staying as far away from the front door as possible, "Dad said, when I feel magic... I just have to let it out..." He shrugged in apology as the doorbell rang through the house again. Neither of them made a move to answer the door, they learned to try and ignore it after the first few times. Harry's 'accidental' and uncontrolled magic had been making the bell ring for a whole day straight now.

Shortly after Ireland and Romania let it slip that they were all wizards, Harry had tried to stifle or control his magic to make his caretaker's life easier, but to no avail.

"Don't bottle it up for my sake Harry," Arthur had told him. "These things happen to every young wizard, it's really not a problem."

Maybe for England, who had raised many young wizards, and even more young colonies, it wasn't a problem. But for Scotland, those first few hours of endless ringing was pure agony. He had tried to remove the doorbell for both their sanity's sake, but it had soon repaired itself and continued ringing.

Both Harry and Alistair believed Arthur would have a solution to their current predicament.

But Arthur wasn't here.

Arthur had been away on a business trip again, though this wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Considering his father's line of work, Harry had gotten used to his father being out of the country for a few days multiple times a month. The only thing that was different was that Uncle Alistair was left to take care of Harry in their London home, instead of dumping Harry on Mrs. Figg. This was because this was the longest Arthur and Harry had been apart at once.

England was away for three weeks attending a "team building" conference with the former Axis Powers and Allied Forces in Seychelles (oh all the wonderful memories they shared on that island), and Alistair had marked the calendar when Arthur was due to arrive. That date passed almost two days ago.

Multiple technical and scheduling problems had caused Arthur's flights to be delayed and missed. From the tone of his frantic texts and calls before his phone finally died, it was clear both Harry and his father were anxious to be reunited.

"You really miss your father, don't you?" Alistair said, poking his head out of the pillows to ruffle Harry's messy black hair.

"Of course I do," He said sadly, "he's been gone so long."

The doorbell rang again as if to reinforce his point. At this, Alistair buried his head in a pillow with a groan.

"What if the Dursley's start to get suspicious again?" sighed Harry, "can't you use your magic to fix it?"

Alistair ran his hand through his fiery hair with an exasperated sigh. It's been 11 years since that arm had burned him last. "You ken me and your father don't really use our magic anymore."

"Well why not?" Harry asked, staring straight at his uncle, looking for an answer in the deep forest of his eyes. Alistair couldn't bring himself to look away, only allowing his eyes to wander as far as the lightning bolt scar. Did he really have it in him to tell Harry, it's because he might have actually had a hand in marring that innocent face with a mark of death?

"It's pure complicated Harry, me and your da-"

Alistair was cut off by the phone joining in the doorbell's chorus. They both exchange stressed looks, with Harry's face quickly growing hot with embarrassment.

"Maybe if you try removing it again?" Harry suggests meekly. The phone continues ringing as Alistair tries to give Harry a look of encouragement, this isn't your fault.

"You get the phone, I'll work on the door." Alistair grins and digs himself out of his faultily soundproofed grave as Harry makes his way to the phone.

Harry recognizes Uncle Francis's phone number on the display, but the sassy voice that greeted him was not the Frenchman's "Okay Scot, it's not funny anymore. Answer the bloody door damn it!"

"Dad?"

"Harry?" the voice stuttered, "Wait, don't- Don't follow that language!"

Harry drops the phone and runs to the door as Alistair opens it.

With a giant smile splitting his face, Harry rushes past his uncle, flings off his ear muffs and tackles his father to the ground, knocking Francis's phone out of his hand and cutting him off, sending his luggage sprawling across the lawn, they greeted each other with laughter and tight hugs.

"Dad!" Harry cried as the landed on the grass.

"Hullo Harry! Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did! You were gone for so long! And you were supposed to be here two days ago!" Harry exclaims, sitting on his father's chest as Alistair struggled to hold in his laughter.

"I'm sorry Harry, look, I'll make it up to you." Arthur says as he picks himself off the lawn and brushes dirt from his suit. "Let's go out somewhere today. Just the two of us."

"Really? Right now?" Harry asks.

"Yes, of course love. Anywhere in London, I'll take you." He replies as he retrieves Francis's phone.

"Then, I want to go to the zoo!" Harry smiles as he helps pick up his father's luggage.

"Well lovely juvely, the zoo it is! Just let me change out of this suit and we can go."

"Are you sure Arthur? You just arrived. You should rest." Alistair reasoned as they all brought Arthur's luggage into the house.

"No, it's purely fine Alastair. I got enough rest waiting in the airport or on the tarmac." He shrugs Alistair off. "Put on your shoes Harry, I'll be down in a minute." Arthur and Harry exchange smiles before he bounds up the stairs to change into casual wear.

"And shouldn't you be happy I'm finally taking Harry off your hands?" he calls jokingly from his room. "Three whole weeks of complete sobriety! Think of all the hard liquor you can drink once you get back to Edinburgh!"

"That was only one time Arthur!" Alistair called back.

"What about the time Uncle Dylan and Uncle Patrick came over last week?" Harry snickered to his responsible drinker of an uncle.

"Harry I thought that was to be our wee little secret." Alistair said as they hid laughs behind their hands.

\---  
The zoo was absolutely crowded with people. There were many children with their families and a couple of teenagers roaming the sidewalks, gawping at the colourful animals in their enclosures.

Harry and Arthur had the bad luck to cross paths with the Dursley's a couple of times, apparently celebrating some 'precious angel's' birthday; though Arthur and Harry couldn't find where this supposed angel was.

"Maybe Dudley ate it," Harry whispered to his father.

"I would buy that." Arthur would grin in reply.

Each time they met, Petunia's scowling eyes fell upon Arthur, whispering cruel words to her purple faced husband in less than hushed tones. Dudley too had his own set of weak insults intended for Harry's ears. But Harry wouldn't let Petunia or Dudley ruin his special time with his father. With a few sly remarks aimed back at Dudley, courtesy of his sharp tongue; the Kirkland's were sent running to the next exhibit, with joyous smirks adorning their faces before any of the Dursley's could comprehend what was said, and before Vernon's face could get any more purple and threaten them with their rent.

Eventually, Harry and Arthur made it to the Reptile House when France's phone rang.

"I should take this Harry, it's for your uncle. You go on ahead." Arthur said as he waved Harry off and tried to find a quieter place to speak. Harry heard his father start talking in that strange language he couldn't recognize from his postcards, but he started to pick out a few words over the years, "Hello Monaco!" he heard Arthur greet someone with a smile on his face. His smile soon fell and was replaced by a smirk, "No, I didn't nick France's phone this time. Why would I lie to you?"

Harry chuckled to himself, probably just another one of Dad's colleagues.

As he walked into the Reptile house, Harry saw Dudley and his friends again, shouting at the animals to "do something interesting! Damn wankers, so boring!"

"I wonder what poor animal those guys are terrorizing now," he thought to himself.

When Dudley had become bored enough and vacated the space in front of the case where a certain sleepy and tired snake resided, Harry went to go see it. "Don't worry about him," Harry said, giving the snake a small grin, "that guy makes fun of everybody."

It could have been a trick of the light, but Harry could have sworn the snake smiled at him.

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked. The snake nodded in reply. Harry figured there must be some sort of magic that let him talk to animals, finally one of his accidental uses of magic was actually cool and useful. He smiled and shrugged, glad that Dudley had moved on to something else and continued to have a short chat with the snake (albeit a very one sided one at that).

"Look! Harry's making the snake do something!" Dudley called to his friends, making all eyes that mattered fall onto Harry.

There was pushing and shoving between the two boys. The glass disappeared. Dudley fell into the cage. The snake escaped. Petunia screamed. The glass reappeared. Arthur hung up his call.

Vernon was yelling at employees to get his son out from behind the glass, all the while his face looked like it was about to explode in anger. Harry giggled to himself has he tried to back away from the commotion and make his way to his own father.

As he stepped backwards he bumped into his father and looked up with a grin. They locked eyes, but the look on Arthur's face was not what he expected. The usual cheery and bright eyes they both shared were replaced with a poisonous green and seething with anger.

"We're going home." Arthur said sternly before grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him out of the zoo.

\---  
"I'm sorry dad! It was just an accident!" Harry cried, trying to defend himself and explain his actions. "One minute the glass was there and the next it was gone. It was an accident, I swear!"

Apologize for using my magic to hurt someone.

Apologize so he'll stop yelling at me.

Apologize!

"I know I'm supposed to be extra careful about using magic in public, and I'm sorry about that!" Harry's voice cracked over the words. "I know we crack jokes about them all the time, but I would never want to use magic to hurt people! Not even Dudley!"

"I don't care about that!" Arthur shouted, shocking tears to start welling up in Harry's eyes. "You think I care about those worthless Muggles? The Dursley's can all just sod off!" he yelled, nearly spitting out the name of their landlords. "But what you did today, was fucking unacceptable!"

Harry kept backing up, backing up until his back was pressed against a wall. His legs turned to pudding and his lungs caught fire.

Who was this? His father never swore like this, not even at Uncle Patrick. And he most certainly never yelled liked this at all.

Who was this?

Who was this red faced, green eyed, bushy browed stranger screaming at him? All Harry wanted to do was shy away. To curl up in a ball and hide. But he can't.

Arthur grabs his shoulder and pulls him back up to meet his poisonous eyes. "Do you have any idea how scary it is to hear you talking like that?" He screamed as his nails dug into Harry's arm like claws, drawing pained cries to boil up from Harry's throat. "Why the bloody hell would you talk to a fucking snake?" He spat as he threw Harry against the wall.

"I'm sorry dad! I'm sorry!" Harry struggled to choke the words out. "I just wanted to say 'hi', what's wrong with talking to a snake, Dad? I don't see the prob-"

A sharp sound louder than any of Arthur's shouting so far rings through the house. A sickening crack reverberates in Harry's ears as he crumples to the floor. Streams of salt burn his cheeks as tears run down his face. Harry moves to cup his cheek where all the pain is radiating from, but his fingertips send shots of fire through his body as they make contact. Pulling his hand back, it feels hot and sticky, stained by the dark red liquid dripping from his mouth and over his chin.

His mind goes blank.

He can't breathe.

The blood pounding in his ears was so loud it nearly drowned out his father's yelling.

"Dad?"

"I never want to hear you speaking like that ever again!" Arthur continues, his shouting threatening to shatter the glass windows. "DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?!" he screams as he wrenches Harry to face him, to meet the green eyes he shares with his father.

"Daddy?!"

"Go to your room!" Arthur bellows, nearly throwing Harry up the first few steps like a rag doll.

Harry runs up the stairs, sobbing all the way, leaving the tiny drops to blossom like roses on every other step.

It's not until the slam of a door shakes the house is England called back to his senses. He chases after Harry, following the trail of blood to his room.

"Harry, please! Open the door!" Arthur exclaims as he knocks on the cold wood.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud!

He hears a frightened scream over his banging.

No.

He's putting on too much force, again. Just like that hit.

He opts to lean on the door, pressing his forehead to the wood, his body gone limp as he struggles to hold back his own tears.

I'm not an Empire anymore. I don't want to be a tyrant anymore! I'm not a knight. Or a pirate. Or even a fighter pilot.

I just want to be a good father.

"Harry please! I hurt you! I have to take you to the hospital!" he pleads, praying to God Harry will forgive him.

"I don't want to go anywhere with you!" he hears Harry's voice crack as he screams against the pain in his jaw. "Not the hospital! Not the zoo! Not even America!"

Arthur hears bedsheets rustling and another door closing. He's probably hiding in the closet, like he does when we play hide and seek, Arthur thinks to himself.

"Harry, love." Arthur says as he wipes away his tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeats the phrase on end as he gets up to leave, feeling pins and needles with each footfall.

He walks down the steps in a daze. He makes his way to the kitchen. Grabbing a couple of handfuls of ice cubes, he puts them all in a plastic bag. Wrapping the whole thing in a tea towel, he slowly makes his way back up the stairs.

Each drop of blood on the carpet motivates him more and more to think of an apology better than the last. But by the time the red spots run out, so does his confidence. With the words stuck in his throat, all he can choke out is a pathetic "put some ice on it."

Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, with the largest puddle of blood threatening to swallow him up, he nervously presses a number on the phone.

"Bonjour?"

He hangs up and buries his head in his hand. He takes a breath to calm down. He tries again.

"Aye?"

"Scot!" he calls as his vision goes blurry.

\---  
The night air feels cold against Arthur's face and stings his bloodshot eyes. The bottle of beer in his hands, wet from condensation, freezes his fingers. Not even the few fairy friends that could brave the city lights dared to go near the troubled nation.

A loud CRACK sounds through the street and a figure appears at the end of the driveway.

"You ken, as I was driving out of London earlier, I gave Ireland a call." The figure calls out as he walks closer to the porch. "I invited him for drinks. But he was busy, probably with paperwork. One of the lovely perks of independence, I ken. Anyway, he couldn't answer, so I left a message."

England buried his head in his hands with a heavy sigh. He really fucked up now.

"When I get home, and my phone rings, I expected to get dolled up in a kilt and enjoy a couple of pints of Guinness." The figure continues.

"But no." Scotland says as he takes the first step on the porch, grabbing England by the chin, boring his emerald eyes into his youngest brother's own set of jewels. "I'm here. Because you came crying to me. You freaked out, andhad some sort of fucking break down!"

England can't take much more and tears himself away, burned by Scotland's eyes.

"I don't know what to say... to apologize." England chokes out, "I don't know what came over me. I just don't-"

SMACK! The sound of skin on skin rings through England's ears again, cut off and stunned into silence by a backhand from Scotland. Seemingly not receiving enough punishment, Scotland grabs him by his messy blond locks and bangs his head against the porch's post, leaving a dent and spidering cracks in the wood. The lights on the streets and within the houses of Privet Drive flicker and burn out for a second from the impact, as splinters fall to the floor.

"Those are piss poor excuses and you ken it!" Scotland shouts.

"For fucks sake Scot-" England spits as he shoots a venomous look at his brother.

"Don't you bloody darelook at me like that." Scotland scolds him, "It seems we're all in the mood for beating people just for being Parselmouths!"

England doesn't even move to cup his face and relieve the stinging in his cheek. Instead, he painfully unlocks his jaw and releases a sigh "I deserve that." He says as he moves to take another sip from his bottle. Scotland pries it from his hands before he could drink, gesturing and making a face as he takes a swig of it himself as if to say ' -but you don't deserve this'.

"What are you doing with this anyway? We both ken you're too much of a lightweight to drink away your problems." He says as he lays down on the porch beside England.

"Celtic arse." England spits as he rolls his eyes.

"Roman bastard." Scotland shoots back. "Here," he says as he digs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and nudges England's backside with it, "Let's calm down for a bit, awrite?"

England lights it and takes a few drags. With the smoke unfurling in his lungs, it warms his cold body from within. After holding his breath to admire the taste, he exhales and watches as the smoke tumbles upwards, disappearing into night the sky. If only his problems could do the same. "I should have called Francis," he jokes, wiping blood off his temple.

"Isn't he number one on your speed dial?" Scotland asks. Looking back at his brother, England sees he is enjoying his intoxicant of choice as well.

"Don't drink lying down, you eejit." England grins as Scotland pulls himself up to sit beside him and pats his back.

"It's been so long since I've heard Parseltongue." England says quietly.

"I don't miss it." Scotland says as he offers the beer bottle. England turns it away, somewhat regretting even taking it out, and takes another drag of the cigarette instead.

"But how could Harry be a parselmouth?" England asked.

"His father was a pureblood, perhaps somewhere along that line." Scotland reasoned. "But not all parselmouths are dark, right? I mean, lookit us." he says as he ruffles England's hair, trying to lighten the mood.

England grins and meets Scotland's hand on his head. We're not exactly the best example of good parselmouths though. His face falls as he brings their hands down. "It's just, hearing him talk like that, it reminded me too much like-"

"Harry is nothing like that." Scotland says harshly.

"What will happen, when he goes to Hogwarts? What if he gets sorted into Slytherin? What if-"

"Don't even entertain that thought." Scotland says as they meet eyes again. England's eyes were still red and puffy, but he did a good enough job drying his own tears. "Harry is a good boy. You've been teaching him well," Scotland thinks back to the world map hanging on Harry's bedroom wall, now sporting a few green pins around Europe and the British Isles. "He loves learning about and meeting different people. He's got some muggle friends at school, and he loves his Uncle Alfred. He's not going to become some sort of wizard supremacist once he walks through the Great Hall. Something like that doesn't flip like a switch."

England nods and takes a couple more drags from the cigarette. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right you cheeky sod. How'd those words taste coming outta your mouth?" Scotland teases.

"Like vomit." England shoots.

Scotland laughs as he gives England a noogie, a laugh that England is happy to return.

"I just want to do this right this time." England says softly, "Be a good big brother for once. A good father. For Harry."

Scotland looks at him like he just grew second head, "What do you mean? Lookit your colonies."

"I am. I wasn't there to see America and Canada grow up. And once they did, I threw them into a war, against each other! Then Australia, I used him as a dumping ground for prisoners. And New Zealand and Hong Kong, I only cared about them because of their trade routes. And oh God, Sealand-"

"Bloody hell drink this!" Scotland says as he shoves the beer into England's hands.

England's lips hesitate on the lip of the bottle. As he tips the bottle, the liquid burns his throat, untying the knots in his stomach.

"You're and idiot and you're too hard on yourself sometimes Arthur." Scotland says as England downs the last of the drink. "No doubt you fucked up in the past, but you made a promise to North and Hong Kong and Aberdeen: you're a different man now. I ken you truly care for them, and you can't deny they're all grown up to be good boys."

"Thank you for the kind words Alastair." England says as he stamps out the butt of the cigarette and hands the empty bottle to Scotland. "I screwed up. But I can still fix this, right?"

"Of course," Scotland pats England's shoulder for encouragement, "now let's get you inside so you can apologize." He says as he pulls England to his feet.

Walking inside, Scotland sees a small puddle of blood on the floor, a few drops leading up the stairs and some spattering on the wall. The strength of a Nation, and he used it on a human, Scotland scoffs. He quickly casts the scouring charm before England could guilt himself any further.

"So where is the wee tyke?" Scotland asks as he leaves the bottle on the kitchen table while England takes a box from the counter and sets it on the table.

"He's been hiding in his room since it happened." England sighs as he sets the box on the table. "He won't come out when I call him." he starts to retrieve some plates from the cupboards.

"Wait, what's that?" Scotland asks as he helps England set some forks and knives on the table.

"This?" England points to the box and opens it "It's an apology cake obviously."

"You're supposed to be apologizing, not making him feel worse." Scotland grins.

"Bloody hell, I bought it from a French bakery in the city." England retorts, "He loves it when France cooks for him."

They hear a creek on the stairs and look up to see Harry peeking through the railing.

"Uncle Alistair?" Harry says as he rubs his eyes.

"Hey Harry! Come here!" Alistair exclaims as Harry runs down the stairs and into his arms, tears brimming his eyes. "That's quite a nasty shiner innit?" he says. Harry's cheek was already turning a sickening hue of black and blue and so swollen, his eye was nearly shut tight. "Your father give you that?"

Harry sniffles and tears threaten to pour from his eyes again. "He boxed my ears something fierce."

"Ah no worries me braw bairn. I boxed his ears too." He smiles as he brushes tears off Harry's cheeks, careful as he goes over the bruise. "I ken it might hurt Harry, but you have to smile for me, awrite? Give me a smile and let me work my magic."

Harry struggles to hold back tears as he contorts his face into a pained smile. As Uncle Alistair brushes his fingers over his skin, Harry feels that warm, soothing sensation he's come to associate with the rare and beautiful magic of his family in his jaw. Smiling gets easier and easier for Harry, and soon, he no longer has to force it.

"Thank you Uncle." Harry cries into Alistair's chest.

"You awrite now Harry, you awrite." He says as he embraces his nephew.

"What was that about not using magic?" Harry grins to look up at his uncle.

"Well this is deid important! Almost as important as what your father wants to say to you." he says, brushing Harry's dark hair out of his eyes and directing him to face Arthur.

"Harry..." Arthur says as he takes a step forward.

Harry flinches and takes a step back.

Arthur kneels and sits on his heels so he's looking up at Harry instead of towering over him. He's not the powerful empire he once was. No more ruling over his colonies with fear and tyranny. Not in this house. He's just a human here.

"Harry," he calls again, reaching for his son, begging for an embrace and to lessen the space between them. As Harry pads into his father's arms, Arthur closes himself around Harry, holding his son as close to his heart as he could. Even though Harry doesn't do the same to wrap his arms around Arthur, Harry still trusts him. And that's enough for Arthur.

"Harry, love," the words catch in his throat, but they soon pour out like a flood.

"Harry, I should have never raised my hand against you like that. Hurting you and scaring you like that, it's the last thing I would ever want to do. Harry please, will you forgive me?"

The smell of cigarettes and alcohol still on his breath overpower Arthur's usual light sent of tea, but he was still Harry's loving dad.

Wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck, Harry returns the hug, "I forgive you, Dad."

Arthur pulls back to meet Harry's eyes. Both pairs of green were sparkling with tears. Holding Harry's head in his hands, Arthur continues, "Harry, please believe me when I say love you. I love you more than anything on this earth- and I never want to scare you like that again."

"I love you too dad." Harry says, as moves to embrace his father again.

As Harry's arms tighten around England, he feels like he's being pulled back together. After being torn apart by all the invasions, the wars, the declarations of independence; knowing that he is loved and he can love too, makes him feel whole.

He hears a fork tap on a plate. They look up at Alistair who's sitting at the table with a slice of cake. He's cut pieces for both of them and is helping himself to one as well.

Alistair smiles at Arthur, "this is a great cake" he says as he stuffs his mouth again.


End file.
